Unexpected
by Greyleaf
Summary: Not all of the people Reese and Finch try to protect are likable. This is the third in what has turned in to a story arc for Finch. All three stories take place before episode #10, first season. If you want to know how a certain situation got that way, please read 'Deleted Scenes'. As always, comments are welcome. 10/27/13: added Reese to character list and punch up the summary.


Unexpected

"Richard Springer, 37, Investment Broker." Finch said as Reese studied the photo. The image was of a well dressed white man, smiling a toothy smile at the camera. Finch shifted in his chair and continued, "He's made quite a bit of money through his commissions. He's also made quite a few enemies. There are two people against whom he has restraining orders. A number of lawsuits. And an investigation by the Feds."

"Is _that _all?" Reese was trying to be humorous. It didn't work.

"No. There are rumors of infidelity and his wife has just moved into another residence." Finch sat back, raising his hands in exasperation. "You couldn't throw a rock and not hit someone who would have reason to want him dead."

Reese raised an eyebrow at Finch's attempt at using a colloquialism, something he's been doing more often lately. He didn't do it very well. Reese asked, "Are we sure he's the victim? It's possible he's the perp."

"It's possible, but unlikely. He's apparently oblivious to the animosity his behavior has provoked. His attorney pushed through the restraining orders." Finch nodded his head toward the photo in Reese's hand. "That's his publicity photo. It's posted on his website." Finch's voice fairly dripped disgust.

"You really don't like this guy." Reese commented, somewhat surprised at Finch's vehemence.

"I have a particular loathing for financial advisors who abuse the trust of their clients. Some of his have lost their life savings."

Reese nodded thoughtfully. "Ok. So, this guy's a scumbag. There are a number of people who have compelling reasons to want to kill him." Reese set the photo down. "I say we let them try."

Finch looked up at Reese from his place in front of his computers. Reese looked back.

"I know you're trying to be funny, Mr. Reese, but, unfortunately, I'm not finding it amusing."

Reese picked up a copy of a newspaper column. It was about a charity fundraiser in the form of a Casino Night. At the top of the column were several "headshots", photos of some of the expected attendees. One of them was Springer. Another toothy smile.

"As much as I enjoy keeping you amused, Finch, I wasn't trying to be funny." Reese waived the newspaper article. "Our scumbag is attending a fundraiser tonight. All of the potential perps know exactly where he'll be. It would be the perfect opportunity."

"With all of those witnesses?" Finch was incredulous.

Reese shrugged. "The crowd, the confusion, the drinking, loud conversation. Done right, it would be good cover."

Finch looked at Reese thoughtfully. "Well, since that article was in last night's paper, it would make sense that someone saw it and put some plan into motion. That would be why the machine gave us his number today."

Reese set the article back down on the table, feeling smug.

Finch now looked skeptical. "It will mean looking several different directions at once, if you're to spot the killer in time," he said.

"Maybe we can narrow down the possibilities. See if any of them are on the guest list, any last minute additions. See which of those are prone to violence."

Finch had started to type on the keyboard while Reese was talking. "What if the perp hired a hit?"

"If they were going to do that, they could have done so before now. I'm guessing one of his disgruntled clients got the idea from the article."

Finch nodded. "What about the wife?"

"See if you can get me a picture. And any information on whom she might be seeing. And, I'll need an invitation."

The charity event was being held in an old mansion, built for someone who'd favored the federalist style of architecture. The staircase leading up to the row of double doors was long enough to tax the out of shape. The white columns on the portico were lit at the base, the tops were in shadow. The sun had gone down and the shadows formed behind the columns by the lights in front were deep enough to provide Reese a good vantage point from which to watch the arriving guests. Most of the people emerging from the steady stream of limos and taxis at the base of the steps wore diverse versions of black evening wear, though most of the women had accented with jewelry or sequins. Occasionally, someone would appear in red, blue or silver. A few men were brave or clueless enough to wear grey or blue and someone was wearing white.

Reese had stuck with black. He had memorized the photos and information Finch had found on the most promising suspects that were also likely to be at the gala. After much discussion, they had narrowed it down to three.

The estranged wife, Anne, was on the charity board and always attended the events. There were rumors of a lover and possible divorce proceedings and pre-nuptial agreements, but Finch couldn't find anything concrete or photos of the possible lover.

Charles Cramer, a former client who had threatened Springer and had a restraining order against him, was on the guest list and had been for some time. Whether or not he would show up was the question.

The third person was George Sampson. He had reportedly suffered the greatest losses because of Springer's investments and was being fairly vocal about it, his complaints appearing in a local paper. He, too, had been on the guest list for some time.

A fourth person, Adam Butler, also had a restraining order against him after he'd assaulted Springer at Springer's office and he'd been their favorite for the most likely suspect. However, Butler was currently in custody after having, just that day, assaulted a reporter who had been trying to get a quote about the previous assault.

Anne, Springer's erstwhile ex, had arrived earlier in the evening, no doubt having duties to discharge in association with being on the charity's Board. She was a striking woman, the kind who made the simple but well fitting black dress look elegant. She'd arrived alone, but that didn't mean she'd stay that way.

Not long after her arrival, a grey limo pulled up to the steps. The driver got out and opened the door for the passenger.

"Looks like our scumbag has arrived." Reese told Finch. He paused, watching Springer speaking to the driver.

"Finch, we may have a complication."

"What kind of complication?"

"Springer's driver? It's Sarah." Reese waited for Finch's response. After a moment he asked, "Finch?"

"That isn't good, Reese. We can't have her involved."

"She does seem to keep turning up." Reese was watching Sarah and thought he detected something in her stance, her body language. "I don't think she much likes her client." Reese noticed that Springer had a small rose on his lapel. He smiled, wondering if it were one of Sarah's. He watched as Springer leaned toward Sarah, toothy smile and all. Sarah moved back. "I wonder if she still has a cattle prod under the front seat. Springer keeps crowding her like that, he's likely to find out."

When Springer started to reach for Sarah, Reese thought he'd have to intervene, but she was able to evade his grasp, leaving him pawing the air. Just then, someone called out to Springer and he turned to see who it was. Reese tensed at the appearance of this new potential threat even though this guy wasn't one of the prime suspects. There were just too many unknowns for Reese to get complacent.

With Springer distracted, Sarah got into the limo and pulled it forward to the area where other limos were already parked. Springer briefly vacillated between Sarah and the new arrival, then chose to focus on new business rather than unfinished and turned to speak with his new target.

Springer didn't seem to be in any danger from his new companion, whose stance and demeanor was that of someone who was after favors and not making threats. Reese relaxed a little, and saw that Sarah had gotten out of her limo. She waived at some of the other drivers, hired and private, but stayed by her car, leaning against it. Reese pulled out his phone and dialed Sarah's number, stetting up a conference so Finch could listen in. He watched as she pulled her phone from a pocket and check the incoming number. He was too far away to see her expression, but he knew she wouldn't recognize the number he was now using.

"Discrete Transportation Services. This is Sarah."

"Hello, Sarah."

"Who…John?"

"Yes."

Sarah's slouch against the limo became even more relaxed. "I hope you're not needing a ride." Her voice was friendly and a little teasing. "I've got a client right now."

"Yes, I know. Did you pin that rose to his lapel?"

Sarah jerked upright, looking around. Then, no doubt realizing she'd not see him unless he wanted her to, she propped herself back against the limo, free hand shoved in her pocket.

"No, I did not." she said after a moment. She sounded pissed, her words clipped, but he knew it wasn't directed at him. "He wanted me to. But I told him it was against company policy to approach clients with sharp objects."

As Reese smiled he thought he heard Finch start to say something. Or maybe he just coughed. Reese said, "I take it you don't like Mr. Springer."

"Yeah. And I just met him thirty minutes ago. The guy's a real _putz_." She paused. "Let me guess. He's involved in one of your cases."

"Yes."

"Please tell me he's the bad guy. That I won't have to drive him home."

"There seem to be a lot of people who _really _hate this guy. But, no, if things go well, you'll still have him as a client."

"Damn. I guess I'd better keep the cattle prod handy." She sounded as if she was joking, but Reese wasn't so sure. He thought that Springer had better keep his hands to himself.

"Well, given the number of people who have taken a dislike to Springer, we'd like you to keep and eye out for trouble." Reese told her. "If something happens, get out of the way and give me a call."

Reese saw Sarah nod. "Will do."

Springer and the other man had been making their way slowly up the steps toward the mansion's front entrance. They were just now walking past where Reese was standing, the two of them still deep in conversation. Reese didn't think that Springer was in any danger from this man, but he couldn't take any chances that they were looking in the wrong direction. Reese waited a moment and then moved to follow Springer into the mansion. Having stepped into the light, he turned back briefly to look at Sarah. She spotted him and gave a nod.

"Good luck." She said as he went inside.

Reese stationed himself on the mezzanine, keeping an eye on Springer. From here, Reese had a view of most of the main floor. The center was the "casino" with tables set up for blackjack, poker and roulette. The guests bought chips at one of two tables set at either side of the room. The bar was at the back, under the mezzanine, and the tables with various finger foods were around the perimeter of the "gaming" area. There were clusters of people chatting and laughing, gathering in the spaces between the food tables and the outer walls. There were a couple of security guards near the "banks" and two or three reporters and their attendant photographers getting photos and quotes from anyone who looked important. The mezzanine was accessed from the main floor by two curving staircases at either end. Since it was not being used for the festivities, the only light up there came from the main floor and a few recessed lights left on for safety. Reese was able to stand close enough to the railing to watch Springer without attracting attention.

He watched Springer move around the room, seemingly intent on working as many of the moneyed attendees as he could. Teeth and gold rings flashing, he shook hands and schmoozed his way from one person to another with avidity. Some got more attention than others, no doubt an indication of their net worth. Reese was kept busy, between keeping an eye on Springer and trying to spot the three suspects. He located the wife, Anne, talking with a small group of women to one side of the gaming floor, near the stairs to the mezzanine. She kept looking around, though whether for her husband or for some one else was unclear. Reese noted, however, that Springer managed to avoid her end of the room.

George Sampson, Springer's client who was so vocal about his losses, appeared. Slowly moving around the room, he stopped to talk to various people. Reese observed to Finch, "For someone who just lost lots of money, he seems awfully relaxed."

"Could be a front and he's keeping a calm façade for any potential business clients. The public complaints were probably a prelude to a lawsuit."

"So, that's how it works."

"Usually. But, I'll have a closer look at Sampson's business dealings."

Reese turned his attention back to the estranged wife, only to find her missing from the little group still standing at the side of the large room. His eyes darted around and he spotted her just heading up the stairs to the mezzanine. Reese had already checked to see if there was anyone else up there and was pretty sure he was alone. He moved to put one of the recurring columns between him and Anne, thankful for the dim lighting. Reese, peering around the column, watched her ascend the stairs, noting that she glanced back at the main floor several times as if she were looking for someone. Or, maybe keeping an eye on someone. Once she reached the mezzanine, she stopped at the railing, looking down again, then walked to an alcove that contained a large potted plant on a pedestal. Reese realized there might be enough room to squeeze behind it.

Reese kept his voice low. "I think she's meeting someone."

"Where's Springer?"

From where he was standing, Reese could see Springer standing by a set of the double doors that led out on to the portico. Talking to yet another well dressed man.

"He's still downstairs. He's got some poor soul cornered." Reese peered around the column to see what Anne was up to. He watched in amazement as she proceeded to wrap her arms around the potted plant. It wasn't light and she had to shift her arms a couple of times before she had a good grip.

"Reese? What is Mrs. Springer doing? Is she meeting someone?"

"She's picking up a potted plant."

There was a pause. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"If you heard 'picking up a potted plant', then, yes."

Anne had the pot in her arms. In adjusting her grip, she'd scrunched up the bottom of the dress so that a little of the black lace edge of her slip was showing. One labored step at a time, making sure she planted each two-inch heel firmly before lifting the other foot, Mrs. Springer made her way toward the railing.

"She's taking it to the railing."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I could offer to help," Reese said, watching her progress, "but I don't think she needs it."

At the rail, Anne had to stop and heft the pot to set it up on top. Reese was impressed.

"She got it up there."

"Surely, she's not going to kill him with it."

"She can't." Reese glanced quickly to where Springer stood. "He's still buttonholing his quarry on the other side of the room."

Anne stood there, breathing a little heavily from her labors, one hand gripping the rim of the precariously balanced pot. Her expression was one of controlled anticipation, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. She continued to stand there, looking at the milling and mingling crowd below.

"She's waiting."

"For what?"

Just then, someone on the main floor, noticing Mrs. Springer, cried out. Around the room, more and more people stopped their conversations and turned to look at the tall, attractive woman and the plant. The last to notice her, he was so intent on what he was saying, was Springer. His quarry had stopped listening and was looking up at the mezzanine and Springer finally turned to look as well.

At that moment all eyes but Reese's were on the tableau and, just as she released her hold on the pot, he realized what she was doing. He turned and raced down the nearest stairs, trying to keep an eye on Springer.

"It's a diversion, Finch."

Reese and the pot raced each other to the main floor in silence. The pot won, striking a small table that held the glasses and goblets of spent drinks. Pot, glasses and table exploded in a rain of shards and splinters. All hell broke loose, waiters and patrons running here and there, voices raised in shouts and shouted directions. The few security guards in attendance headed up the stairs. Everyone's attention was on the commotion surrounding the debris and the woman at the railing. Reese, however, was focused on Springer.

Reese reached Springer just as one of the doors behind him opened and a man dressed in a tux, stepped in, a knife in his hand.

The knifeman had not yet cleared the door when Reese hit it and him. At the sound of shattering glass and wood, Springer whipped around, eyes wide. Reese picked himself up from the now unconscious form on the floor and handed the knife to Springer, who stared at it in shock.

Reese slipped away as the crowd shifted its attention from Mrs. Springer to Mr. Springer and started to surge toward this new scene. Reese found a spot near the front entrance and brushed himself off. He watched Mrs. Springer, escorted by a security guard, cut through the milling crowd and walk up to Springer, who was still standing where Reese had left him. His wife addressed him and he looked at her blankly. Mrs. Springer's expression contorted in anger and, grabbing the nearest thing to hand, proceeded to pummel him with a metal platter that held small crème puffs. Springer belatedly put his arms up to protect himself, dropping the knife. Someone wrested the platter from Mrs. Springer's hands, but not before she'd gotten in a couple of good hits. Springer had powdered sugar and whipped crème on his face and suit jacket. There was a crème puff in his hair, which fell to the floor when he looked down to brush at the sugar on his jacket. The security guard now had a hold on Mrs. Springer's wrists and someone else was trying to clean Springer's jacket, smearing the sugar and whipped crème even more. Springer seemed to finally come out of his shock, thrusting away his cleaner. He looked at all of the people looking at him. There was no sympathy. Someone snickered. He turned to leave and no one stopped him.

"Reese? Is everything okay?"

"It appears Mrs. Springer and her accomplice have been taken care of," Reese said, watching another security guard examine the still prone knifeman.

"And Springer?"

As Reese watched Springer walking toward the front entrance, he briefly wondered if Springer would see him, let alone acknowledge him. Reese had, after all, saved his life. He was not surprised when Springer hurried past without even looking up, angrily trying to brush crème puff remnants out of his hair.

"He's okay," Reese said in reply to Finch's question. "If a little…sticky."

"Well, he may be alive, but he's still in trouble."

Reese frowned, watching Springer rapidly disappear down the front steps. "Why's that?"

"I found something interesting. George Sampson, the guy who 'lost' all of that money? I think I know where it went. I'm looking at evidence that Springer helped Sampson hide that money, making it look as if it was lost to bad investments."

"That would explain why Sampson didn't seem particularly upset. The comments in the paper must have been part of the strategy." Reese observed. "Very good, Finch. Too bad the Feds don't know about it."

"They do now." Finch sounded almost cheerful.

Reese started to move towards the exit. "If I didn't know better, Finch…" Reese stopped, interrupted by an incoming call. He glanced at his phone for the number. Sarah. He conferenced her in.

"Sarah?"

"John, we've got a problem out here." Reese could hear voices raised, loud and close to Sarah. "I think…"

Reese heard a sharp cry and he started running toward the parking lot.

He spotted the trouble as he flew down the steps. Springer was grappling with another man on the other side of Sarah's limo. At first he didn't see her, then she appeared from behind the limo. As Reese closed the distance, she went over to the two brawlers, limping and carrying a short rod. Just before Reese reached the melee, Sarah managed to jab the cattle prod between the two men, hitting Springer's attacker in the groin. The man cried out, falling, and taking Springer with him, Sarah barely making it out of the way. Both men lay panting on the ground.

"John? What is it? Has something happened to Springer?"

Reese, using the moment to catch his breath, checked the two men, rolling the attacker over to see his face.

"I think Adam Butler, the other guy with the restraining order, must have a good lawyer. Looks like he got released and made a beeline here to confront Springer."

"And Springer?"

Springer was sitting up, using his handkerchief in an attempt to staunch the blood now running from his nose. "Butler got in at least one good hit. Springer will have to get new publicity photos, but, he'll be okay."

The fight had attracted attention and someone was calling loudly for security. Reese would have to be leaving soon, if he was to avoid being questioned. He looked around for Sarah and saw her standing next to the open driver's door, leaning her head and arm against the top of the limo, the cattle prod dangling from the other hand. Reese stepped over to her, saying "Nice work with the cattle prod." He was going to say something witty when she raised her head to look at him.

There was a large contusion on the left side of her face, going from below her cheekbone to just above her eyebrow. Her eyelid was swollen and the whole area was an angry red.

Reese grabbed her free arm and sat her on the driver's seat.

"Finch, Sarah's hurt."

There was a pause, then, "How bad?" There was a peculiar note to his voice.

Reese squatted down next to Sarah and carefully turned her head to the light from the overhead interior light. She looked at him with her one good eye.

"I guess I need to learn how to duck," she said.

"Who did this?"

"The guy I 'prodded'. When I was on the phone to you. He objected."

"You were limping," Reese recalled.

She nodded. "I hit the ground pretty hard." She shifted her legs slightly, wincing. "I need to lean how to fall, too."

The commotion from the direction of the mansion was getting louder. Glancing in that direction, Reese could see a security guard coming and he could hear a variety of sirens approaching the long driveway. When he turned back, Sarah was looking at him.

"You should leave."

"When I'm sure you're okay."

She shook her head. "I'll be fine." She fished her phone from her left coat pocket, intact because she'd landed on her right side. Remarkably, her wireless earpiece has still in her ear and Reese realized that meant that Finch had heard both sides of their conversation.

Reese stood to look at Springer and his assailant. Springer was on his feet, his nose appeared to have stopped bleeding. Butler was still on the ground. This was due to the fact there was a limo driver sitting on him. Several of the other drivers, who had come running when it had become apparent something was up, were now milling around watching the people coming from the mansion as well as watching Springer, Butler, Reese and Sarah.

Reese heard Finch say to Sarah, "Are you sure you're okay?" His voice still had that odd quality, brittle, as if he were barely controlling panic. "John can stay", he was saying when Sarah talked over him.

"Harold, please, there's no need for him to stay. John should go. The cops are practically here and the other drivers will stay with me."

Reese turned and stared at Sarah. He'd been blind. He should have seen the signs, clues from Finch's behavior. Just then, the security guard from the mansion showed up and was talking to Springer, who was getting very animated in his description of what had happened. With the police and paramedics rolling in, Reese knew it was a matter of minutes before official notice fell on him and Sarah.

Reese squatted down next to Sarah again, looking at her face. He didn't think anything was broken, but they would do x-rays at the hospital to make sure. The police would take pictures and her statement and would make sure she got home safely.

Sarah took his hand and held it as she looked at him. "John, I'll be fine. I'll call Chuy to come get the limo. He and Maria will check on me tomorrow." She squeezed his hand and managed a small smile. "Now, please go."

Reese didn't actually leave. He stood in the shadows, avoiding notice, and kept an eye on Sarah. After he'd walked away, one of the other limo drivers had come over to see her. Once he saw the damage to her face, he ran over to the nearest paramedic who'd been checking Springer. The driver must have been pretty convincing because the paramedic and the small crowd that had been gathered around Springer, including a couple of the reporters, went over to Sarah, leaving Springer alone.

Reese realized that he hadn't heard from Finch for a while.

"Finch?"

"Reese. I take it you're still at the mansion."

"Yes." Reese wasn't sure what he should say. "There's a paramedic with her now." The paramedic helped Sarah up from the limo seat, closing the door behind her. He led her to the ambulance, the crowd following after.

"Have the police attended to Springer and his assailants?" Finch was all business now, but Reese wasn't going to forget how Finch sounded when he'd learned Sarah was hurt. Or, that she'd called Finch by his first name.

A cop had wandered over and started taking Springer's statement, but was obviously unimpressed and wishing he were somewhere else, his attention being drawn to what the other officers were doing. When two of them walked by, examining Sarah's cattle prod, the cop abruptly left Springer standing there to go join in on the discussion. Reese shook his head. He _almost _felt sorry for Springer.

"Springer's getting the attention he warrants," he told Finch. "All of his assailants and would be assassins are in custody." Reese paused, considering his next words. "It'll be a while before Sarah's home. They may keep her for observation, though I don't think her injuries are bad enough for that." Reese hesitated. "Since we seem to be done here, I could check on her at the hospital, if you can tell me where they're taking her."

It was a moment before Finch responded. "I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Reese. I'm sure she'll be fine."

Reese nodded to himself. "Well, Finch. I'll see you in the morning."

Reese stood in the same spot he'd used the first time he'd watched Sarah's place, when she'd been the person of interest three months earlier. Both Chuy's and Sarah's ground floor businesses were dark, shuttered for the night. He knew that Sarah was already at home in her third floor apartment. He didn't have his night vision binoculars or scope. He wasn't there for surveillance, per se. He was there to confirm a hunch.

He didn't have to wait long.

A taxi rolled past the entrance to Sarah's building, slowing down and disappearing around the corner. A few moments later, a figure came back from that direction and went to the secured door. The overhead light revealed it was Finch.

Reese watched as Finch used the access card he had ready, pulling the door open and disappearing inside. Reese knew which apartment was Sarah's. There was a light on in what would be the living room, curtains drawn. Reese stood there for a few minutes, looking at the window. He was thinking that Finch would knock on her door. It would open. Finch would see Sarah and, even knowing the extent of her injuries, would be shocked, seeing the reality.

From experience, Reese knew that the bruise would be looking pretty bad by now, a dark red with hints of the purple that was coming, the eye and cheek swollen. The other injuries, the ones hidden by her clothes, Finch would see later. Finch might try to fuss over her. Sarah might let him. He'd stay the night.

Reese turned and walked away. He expected that this would be the last time Sarah would be asked to help on one of their cases, however small a role she might play. He sincerely hoped it wasn't the last time Finch and Sarah would be together, that Finch wouldn't somehow find Sarah's ending up injured as his fault. He knew that, for what ever reason, Finch carried enough guilt. Having Sarah in his life probably made the burden a little lighter. At least, while the two of them were together.

Reese got into his car, still pensive. He had to admit to a little...envy. Sarah was an interesting, intelligent and attractive woman. Reese had entertained thoughts of asking her out himself. Though, it was not the first time. He'd considered others as well.

Reese pulled out his phone and scrolled through the numbers. He wondered what Zoe was doing…

17


End file.
